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Now
22 February 2004 @ 11:44 p.m.
Bubbles was waiting for us at the Parentals� home. We arrived late, several hours late, due to horrible weather. I�ve not had such a stressful drive in years if ever. I drove it alone though Mouse was there too. The girl can sleep for hours when necessary.
It was the first time in many months we�d been in the same room together. Hugs were shared as we all settled in. The Parentals left us alone to do whatever we needed to. We talked into the wee hours of the morning � sharing photographs, letters, stories, and memories. Bubbles brought the poem and her ideas to finish it. I had scanned all the pictures to share. Mouse had a manila folder full of random things. The Father brought in three copies of the newspaper with the obituary so we could have it. But no tears were shed, not that night.
The next morning we donned our conservative clothing � the two of them in black, me in charcoal and plum. The Mother gave us her car for the day, as it is bigger and easier to drive through the snow. The sky was a dark gray, roads covered in piles of blown snow. A rough drive to the next town over for something already so hard.
We pulled the car up to a typical midwestern funeral home � red brick with white accents. A solemn older gentleman held the door open as my heels sunk into thick carpet of indistinguishable color. I looked up and saw many familiar faces huddled in small groups. Hugs were shared with those closest as Bubbles, Mouse and I shed our coats and handbags. We found a quiet corner to place the corsages over our hearts. White flowers with blue ribbons in honor of her and what she meant to us. Hand in hand we walked to the guest book, then to the coffin.
A young woman lay there wearing Kerby�s glasses, hair, and sweater. Hands clasped around a white rose, mouth and eyes closed tight. It wasn�t her. Her hands were wrong. The color of her skin was wrong. Her hair was flat. Bubbles burst into tears and clutched Mouse tightly as I allowed my eyes to wander to the array of brightly colored flowers surrounding the room. It was obvious who honestly knew her and who did not by the arrangements given. Some included paper or silk butterflies hovering over the blossoms. Some included colored daisies, her favorite flower. And others were your standard funeral arrangement with good intentions but little thought. The colors present were astounding, reflecting the blue sweater worn by the strange body supposedly representing the woman I knew and loved.
The three of us hugged her mother and were finally given the opportunity to meet her father. We�d spoken on the phone many times, but now he was there in front of us. From afar, it was apparent he was holding things together. Once he saw us, he burst into tears and gathered us into his arms. He said over and over how we were her life; how her outlook changed once we were bonded. We gave him our post cards � there are 19 now. We also gave him the poem we�d finally finished for her. The poem she�d written for us so many years ago but had forgotten herself in it. The poem below, exactly as written:
�Oh yes, it�s Ladies� Night�
To you these poems I write.
But not to say goodbye, my friends,
We�ll see each other many times again.
I�ll remember each of you,
In everything that I do.
The four of us are a team
With only one brain it seems.
I give you these gifts of love and light
So that you may remember our Ladies� Night.
And the feelin�s right
To Red, our fearless leader
You are like the solemn Earth
Calm, cool, levelheaded.
Like a compass that points North
Leading us in the right direction.
Always proceeding forth,
Headed for our destination.
�Oh yes, it�s Ladies� Night�
To Mouse, so sleepy and innocent
You are like flowing Water
Streaming, running, endless.
With those comments that make us wonder�
The West brings sun and glamour:
Smiles and hugs for everyone.
�Oh, What a Night!�
To Bubbles, the plotter and scemer
You are like breathless Air
Confidant to all, a secret keeper
The East is always busy and active
With never-ending errands and tasks.
But when the work never seems done
Remember: you are always first to see the sun.
�Oh yes, it�s Ladies� Night�
To Kerby, our chaos and jester
You are like burning Fire
Laughter for all,
But keeping none for your desire
Laughing, dancing, giving
The South is always full of life
But you have exhausted your light
Saying goodbye, to our Ladies� Night
Earth, Air, Fire, Water
North, East, South, West
The four of us, together
We are all one
Forever.
The original poem by Kerby included all stanzas except the one about herself, which we wrote once together this past week. Once read, her father cried harder than I�ve ever seen a grown man weep. We moved silently to our seats, waiting for the service to begin.
A full Catholic memorial was not what I expected in the wake of Kerby�s death. She was an atheist, something she voiced freely and often. She denounced the existence of God in any form other than human love and spirit. Yet a Catholic service it was as her family is of Polish Catholic decent. I sat, half-listening to the verses and whatnot, watching those gathered. Some were crying, others sitting silently, many grasping wads of tissue provided by the funeral home. The walls full of photos, awards, and memories interspersed with flowers and butterflies. I saw pictures of myself on the wall � a first for me.
There�s something terribly moving when you see such happy photos of your past � standing with your three best friends � on the wall of a funeral chapel. At the time I felt nothing, just sat there observing everyone and everything trying to soak it all in. Now I don�t know what to feel. It still hasn�t been processed.
The service was long, emotional, and almost felt overdone for the sake of a split family. It was then when I decided it was time for proper closure with just the remaining three. We needed time, just the three of us, to hash things out and work through everything in person. Thankfully someone was looking out for us and tossed the perfect opportunity in our laps. Bubbles� new beau was back in the state visiting college friends. It was a random trip that happened to coincide with the funeral, even though he had been stationed far away for a while.
The two-hour car ride down to see him gave us the chance to be us. Oldies blasted out of the radio, Bubbles singing along in her out of tune off-beat fairy-like voice, Mouse giggling as she sang in harmony, I drove and finally felt comfortable belting out Motown hits. We discussed Kerby. We discussed us. We discussed politics. We discussed Mouse�s impending wedding. We discussed what we saw at the service. We were us celebrating the memory of our fourth.
The evening turned out to be the polar opposite of the morning. We went from the past to the present and then to the future. Bubbles� new beau may be a keeper. She�s falling for him and is willing to stay with him as he�s deployed for several months soon. His friends met us, we met them. It was a brewpub that was large, loud, and full of happy people being with their loved ones. Food and alcohol passed around our large table bringing silly stories and friendship in tow. It was upbeat and joyous. Even when Bubbles and I huddled at one end of the table and finally debriefed the entire day, just the two of us, it seemed to be in a more positive light than the night before.
Even the colors and light of the evening were different from the morning. Saturday morning was damp, cool, and gray. People huddled in their black and gray dress coats trying to stay warm. The evening brought drier air, bright city lights, and the warm tones of a happy bar. People were seen in comfortable clothes of all colors smiling and drinking.
It was a full spectrum day to bring an end to one of the most trying weeks of my life. I, well we, realize that the events have not fully hit us yet. Bubbles calls it a bad dream. I don�t think it will feel real until Mouse�s wedding this summer when Kerby isn�t there standing with us. When she isn�t at the bachelorette party. When she isn�t there to see me graduate. When she won�t be there to stand in my own future wedding or whatever. Right now it is still just a bad dream � but we aren�t asleep.
* * *
I am now home, back to the quiet of my apartment. It looks and feels like it always has. From here, it looks as though nothing has changed. It is the first time I�ve been alone in days � something difficult without dealing with the death of a loved one.
I arrived back just in time for the series finale of Sex in the City. Seeing each of them head to that next step was so hard. Seeing them as four was harder. I always envisioned that someday we�d be like that again. That we�d settle in the same area of the country and be together for brunch every Saturday sharing our lives. But that dream ended at the same time as the show. It isn�t what will happen for me, for us. The era is over. Six years of a fantastic show. Six years of university. Six years of the four of us as four. Six years of my life here. The era is over. Now is the time for me to accept the new life I am growing into. Now is the time to embrace those still around and bring them with me. Now is the time to understand. Now is the time to wake up.
